16 Emily Of New Moon - Guided Reading

L.M. Montgomery’s Emily of New Moon mirrors core tenets of Stoic philosophy. Orphaned and navigating an oppressive environment, young Emily Byrd Starr practices Stoic resilience by distinguishing between what she cannot control (family cruelty, societal limitations) and what she can: her integrity, artistic purpose, and emotional endurance.
In this episode: Emily has a run in.
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Music by Jean-Miles Carter Copyright Neworld Books

Transcript

Welcome to sleep stories with Steph your go-to podcast. That offers you a calm and relaxing transition to sleep. Into a great night's sleep. It is time to relax and fully let go. There is nothing you need to be doing now. And know where you need to go. Close your eyes. And feel yourself sink into the support beneath you. And let all the worries of the day go. Drift away. This is your time. And your space. Take a deep breath in through your nose. And let it out with a long sigh. That's it! There is nothing you need to be doing now. And know where you need to go. Happy listening. Chapter 16 Emily and Ilse were sitting out on the side bench of Blair Water School writing poetry on their slates. At least Emily was writing poetry and Ilse was reading as she wrote and occasionally suggesting a rhyme, When Emily was momentarily stuck for one. It may as well be admitted here and now they had no business whatsoever to be doing this. They should have been doing sums, As Miss Bronwell supposed they were, But Emily never did sums when she took it into her blackhead to write poetry, And Ilsy hated arithmetic on general principles. Miss Bromwell was hearing the geography class at the other side of the room. The pleasant sunshine was showering in over them through the big window and everything seemed propitious for a flight with the muses. Emily began to write a poem about the view from the school window. It was quite a long time since she'd been allowed to sit out on the side bench. This was a boon reserved for those pupils who had found favour in Miss Bromwell's cold eyes. Emily had never been one of those. But this afternoon, Ilse had asked for both herself and Emily, And Miss Brunwell had let both go, Not being able to think of any valid reason for permitting Ilse and refusing Emily. This rankled a Miss Bromwell's mind. Emily on her first day at school, Miss Bronwell believed, Had been guilty of impertinence and defiance. She had never received any commendation. She was a target for Miss Bromwell's sarcasm continually. And the small favours other girls received never came her way. There were points about sitting on the side bench. You could see over all the school without turning your head and Miss Bronwell could not sneak up behind you and look over your shoulder to see what you were up to. In Emily's eyes, The finest thing about this was you could look right down into the school bush and watch the old spruces where the wind woman played. Today the sandhills were softly rounded and gleaming white under the snow. But beyond them the gulf was dark, Deep blue, With dazzling white masses of ice like baby icebergs. Just a look at it thrilled Emily with a delight that was unutterable, But which she must yet try to utter. She began her poem. I suppose you have finished those sums, Emily? " said Miss Brongle. But Emily had not even finished one sum. She had only covered her slate with verses. Versus Miss Bronwall must not see What is this? " said Miss Bromwell suddenly. It does look like fractions. Lines on the view from the window of Blair Water School, It says. Really, Children, We seem to have a budding poet amongst us. The words were harmless enough, But the hateful sneer that ran through the tone, The contempt and mockery. . . It's said Emily sold like a whiplash. Please, Miss Brunwell. She's stammered miserably. Don't read it. I'll rub it off and do my sums right away. It isn't anything. Miss Bromwell laughed cruelly. You are too modest, Emily. It's a whole slate full of poetry. That children, Poetry. We have a pupil in this school who can write poetry and she does not want us to read it. I am afraid Emily is selfish. I am sure we should all enjoy her poetry. Emily cringed every time Miss Bromwell said poetry, With that jeering emphasis and that hateful pause before it. Many of the girls giggled, Partly because they enjoyed seeing Murray of New Moon grilled. Partly because they realise Miss Bromwell expected them to giggle. Rhoda Stewart giggled louder than anyone else, But Jenny Strang, Who had tormented Emily on her first day, Refused to giggle and scowled blackly. Miss Bonwath held up the slate and read Emily's poem out loud in a sing-song nasal voice with absurd intonations and gestures that made it seem a very ridiculous thing. The lies Emily had thought the finest seem the most ridiculous now. The other pupils laughed more than ever and Emily felt the bitterness of the moment could never go out of her heart. Oh, Thought Emily, Clenching her hands. I wish the bears that ate the naughty children in the Bible would come and eat you. There were no nice bears in the school bush, However, And Miss Brownwall read the whole poem through and was enjoying herself hugely. To ridicule a pupil always gave her pleasure, And when that pupil was Emily of New Moon, She had sensed something fundamentally different from her own as a child. This pleasure was exquisite. When she reached the end she handed the slate back to the crimson-cheeked Emily. Take your poetry, Emily, " she said. Emily snatched the slate. No slate rag was handy but she gave the palm of her hand a fierce lick. And one side of the slate was wiped off. Another leak and the rest of the poem disappeared. It had been disgraced, Degraded. It must be blotted out of existence. Miss Brownwell laughed again. What a pity to obliterate such poetry, She said. Suppose you do the sums now. They're not poetry, But I am in this school to teach arithmetic and not here to teach the art of writing. Now go to your seat. Yes, Rhoda? Rhoda Stewart was holding up her hand. Please Miss Brownwell, Emily Starr has a whole bunch of poetry in her desk. She was reading it to Ilse Burnley this morning while you thought they were learning history. Perry Miller turned round and a delightful missile, Compounded of tulle paper and known as a spit pill, Flew across the room and struck Rhoda squarely in the face. Don't touch them, You have no right! " gasped Emily frantically. But Miss Brownwall had the bunch of poetry in her hands. She turned up and walked up to the platform. She realised that the time was too short to read them, So she had to content herself with reading over the titles instead. The Lost Diamond, A romantic tale, She read. Lines on a birch tree. Looks more to me like lines on a very dirty piece of paper. Lines to my favourite cat. Another romantic tale, I presume. The Violet Spell. I hope the violet spells better than you do, Emily. Lines to a piece of brocade in Aunt Laura's burrow drawer. Farewell on leaving home Lines to a spruce tree Hmm. Don't pass those lines off as your own, Emily. Crusted with uncounted gems, Those stars so distant, Cold and true. You couldn't have written those. I did, I did. Emily was white with a sense of outrage and I've written a far lot better. Miss Brownwall suddenly crumpled the ragged little papers up in her hand. We've wasted enough time over this trash, " she said. Now go to your seats. She moved towards the stove. For a moment, Emily did not realise her purpose. Then, As Miss Brownwell opened the stove door, She stood and bounded forward. Catching the papers, She tore them from Miss Bramwell's hand before the latter could tighten her grasp. You shall not burn them, You shall not have them, Gasped Emily. The Maori look was on her face. And although Miss Brownwall was not so violently affected by it as Aunt Elizabeth had been, It nevertheless gave her an unpleasant sensation, As of having roused forces with which she dared not tamper further. Give me those papers, Emily, " she said. I will not, Said Emily stormily. They are mine. You have no right to them. I'm coming up to New Moon tonight to tell your Aunt Elizabeth of this. Emily was at first much too excited over saving her precious poetry to pay much heed to this threat. But as her excitement ebbed, Cold dread flowed in. She knew she had an unpleasant time ahead of her. She wanted terribly to cry but she would not. As soon as she got home from school she flew to the garret and secreted her poems on the shelf of the old sofa. I can't write to father about it, " she thought. Her little breast was heaving. The shame of it was all too deep and intimate to be written out. They did not have supper at New Moon in wintertime until Cousin Jimmy had finished his chores and was ready to stay in for the night. Emily was left undisturbed in the garret. From the dormer window she looked out on a dreamland scene she ordinarily would have been delighted by. There was a red sunset behind the white distant hills shining through the dark trees like a great fire. But Emily found no pleasure in it. Presently she saw Miss Brownwell coming up the lane. If my father was alive, She said to herself, He would go away from this place with a flea in your ear. The minutes passed, Each seeming very long to Emily. At last up came Aunt Laura. Your Aunt Elizabeth wants you to come to the kitchen, Emily. She said. Her voice was kind and sad and Emily thought down a sob. The supper table downstairs was set and the candles were lit. The big black rafted kitchen looked spookish and weird as it always did by candlelight. Aunt Elizabeth sat rigidly by the table and her face was very hard. Miss Brown sat in the rocking chair, Her pale eyes glittering with triumphant malice. Cousin Jimmy in his grey jumper was perched on the edge of the wood box, Whistling at the ceiling and looking more gnome-like than ever. Perry was nowhere to be seen. Emily was sorry for this. The presence of Perry, Who was on her side, Would have been a great moral support. I'm sorry to say, Emily, I've been hearing some very bad things about your behaviour in school today. Sit down to listen. I don't think you are sorry, " said Emily. Now that the crisis had come, She found herself able to confront it coolly. Don't speak impertinently to me. She's a little bit. You see? " said Miss Bromwell significantly. I don't mean to be impertinent, But you're not sorry, Persisted Emily. You're angry because you think I've disgraced New Moon. But you are a little glad you've got someone to agree with that I'm back. You have been behaving disgracefully in school, " said Aunt Elizabeth. I am ashamed of you. Meanwhile, Perry Miller's head and more of him stuck out of the black hole in the ceiling. His face and head then disappeared in a flash, Leaving Miss Brownwall staring foolishly upwards. It was not as bad as that, Aunt Elizabeth. Said Emily. You see, It was this way. I don't want to hear anything more about it. But you must! " cried Emily. It isn't fair to hear only Miss Brownwell's side. I was a little bad, But not so bad as she says. Not another word. I've heard the whole story. You heard a pack of lies, Said Perry, Suddenly sticking his head through the black hole again. Everyone jumped, Even Aunt Elizabeth, Who at once became angrier than ever because she had jumped. Perry Miller come down of that loft instantly, She commanded. I count. Sir Perry laconically. Once. I can't! Perry Miller, Come down. I will be obeyed. I am mistress here yet. Oh, All right, " said Perry cheerfully, If I must. He swung himself down until his toes touched the ladder. Aunt Laura gave a little shriek. Everyone else seemed to be stricken dumb. I just got my wet duds on. I fell into the brook when I was watering the cows. I was going to put on dry ones but just as you say. . . Jamie implored poor Elizabeth Murray, Surrendering at discretion. She could not cope with this situation. Get back into that loft and get your clothes on this minute. The bare leg shot up and disappeared. There was a chuckle as mirthful and malicious as an owl's beyond the black hole. Aunt Elizabeth gave a convulsed gasp of relief and turned to Emily. Kneel down here before Miss Browell and ask her pardon for your conduct today. Into Emily's pale cheek came a scarlet protest. She could not do this. She would ask pardon, But she could not kneel. Her whole nature rose up in protest against such a humiliation. Kneel down. Repeated Aunt Elizabeth. Miss Brown, Meanwhile, Looked pleased and expectant. Aunt Elizabeth, Please let me tell my side of the story. Emily pleaded. I've heard all I wish to hear of the matter. You will do as I say or you will be outcast in this house until you do. No one will talk to you, Play with you, Eat with you, Have anything to do with you until you have obeyed me. Emily stuttered. That was a punishment she could not face. A human being should not kneel to anyone but God, Said Cousin Jimmy suddenly. Still staring at the ceiling. A sudden strange change came over Miss Murray's proud, Angry face. She stood very still looking at Cousin Jimmy. OK, She said in a different tone, I was wrong. Emily, I shall not ask you to kneel. But you must apologise to your teacher and I shall punish you later on. Emily put her hands behind her and looked straight into Miss Brownwell's eyes again. I'm sorry for anything I did today that was wrong and I ask your pardon for it. Miss Brownall got on her feet. She felt herself cheated of a legitimate triumph. She could have shaken simple Jimmy Murray with a right good will. But it would hardly do to show how she felt. Elizabeth Murray was not a trustee, But she was the heaviest ratepayer in New Moon and had great influence with the school board. I shall excuse your conduct if you behave yourself in future, Emily, " she said coldly. I feel I've only done my duty in putting the matter before your heart. No, Thank you, Miss Murray. I cannot stay to supper. I want to get home before it's too dark. Godspeed to all travellers, Said Perry cheerfully, Climbing down the ladder, This time with his clothes on. Aunt Elizabeth ignored him. She was not going to have a scene with a hired boy before Miss Brown walked in. And without another word, She switched herself out. Aren't you, Elizabeth? Said nothing but sat down haughtily at the supper table. Emily went into the pantry and ate her bread and milk. Emily, Said Aunt Laura, Shutting the door. You can talk to me all you want to. I don't like Miss Brumwell either and I don't think you're altogether in the wrong. Although you shouldn't be writing poetry when you've got sons to do. But anyway, There were some ginger cookies in that box. I don't want to talk to anyone, Dear Aunt Laura. I'm too happy, Said Emily dreamily. Guess what? I'm composing an epic that's to be called The White Lady and I've got 20 lines of it made already. Two of them are thrilling. The heroine wants to go into a convert with her father and her father warns her if she does she will never be able to come back to the life you gave with all its pleasures to the grave. Oh, Aunt Laura, When I composed those lines, The flash came to me. And ginger cookies are nothing to me anymore. Aunt Laura smiled again. Not just now, Perhaps, Dear. But when the moment of inspiration has passed, It will do no harm to remember the cookies in the box have not been counted. And they are just as much mine. As Elizabeth's.